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To stop this duel at all costs.

Yes, Lord Templemore had made some foolish mistakes, but certainly no more foolish than the particularly stubborn man who sat stony-faced beside her, acting as if he hadn’t heard a word of Juliet’s explanations. And nothing Juliet said had changed Rosalind’s opinion that his lordship was perfect for her sister.

Now came the difficult part—convincing Griff of that.

Their discussion had lasted the entirety of their trip home, but as they disembarked in front of Knighton House, Juliet kept up her pleading. “You see, Griff? Sebastian did the best he could. How can you fault him for trying to protect his brother? You would have done the same if it had been Daniel.”

“I wouldn’t have lied about it.” Griff stalked into the house. “I would’ve owned up to my mistake afterward and faced the consequences. When we went to Shropshire—”

“We were bent on revenge!” Juliet hastened up the steps after him. “And he knew it, too, after you punched him in the face. So his behavior is perfectly understandable. Can you really fault him for playing it cautiously? He was afraid for his brother!”

“Who consorts with smugglers and pirates—”

“That’s certainly the pot calling the kettle black,” Rosalind muttered under her breath as she followed a little behind.

Halting in the entrance hall, Griff turned to shoot her a bitter glance. “I take it that you find Templemore’s actions ‘understandable,’ too?”

Rosalind squared off against him. “I do indeed. And so would you, if you’d allow your temper to cool long enough to see reason.”

“Griff,” Juliet said, “I love him. I’ll never love anybody else. If you kill him—”

“Oh, he won’t kill Lord Templemore,” Rosalind broke in, staring down her husband. Her voice rose with her fear. “Don’t you remember, Juliet? The very day we arrived in Shropshire, Griff told us of Lord Templemore’s prowess with a pistol, how he ‘hit every target dead center.’ Griff promised then not to challenge him, but apparently he’s forgotten that promise. Suicide by duel seems to be my husband’s present aim.”

Griff’s unwavering gaze grew bleaker than she’d ever seen it. “This discussion is ended, Juliet. I’m fighting your kidnapper tomorrow, no matter how you protest. Now if you’ll please excuse us, I need a few words with my wife.”

“But Griff—” Juliet began.

“Go on, dear heart,” Rosalind said. “I’ll take care of this.”

Juliet stared at them both, then seemed to sense the magnitude of the tension between husband and wife. “Rosalind, come to my room when you’re done, all right?”

“I’ll be there shortly,” Rosalind answered.

Casting them a look of concern, Juliet hurried off up the stairs.

Griff didn’t even wait until Juliet had reached the top. Grabbing Rosalind by the elbow, he hustled her into the drawing room, then shut the door. “If you’re going to argue for that man, then save your breath. I won’t hear a word of it, most especially from you.”

That threw Rosalind off guard. “What do you mean—‘most especially’ from me?”

Turning away, he strode to a chair and gripped the back of it, as if only by holding onto something could he keep from drowning. “I’m not a fool, Rosalind, no matter what you think. I know that you’re a little…enamored of Templemore. But if you expect me to stand by and watch while you let that…that blackguard—”

“Whatever are you babbling about?” Rosalind cut in. “I’m ‘enamored’ of his lordship? Why in God’s name would you think that?”

When he faced her again, he looked lost. “Don’t make it worse by lying about it. I’m not blind. I knew when we left Shropshire that you and Juliet had lied to me about why she pretended to be sick. But I told myself it was just your matchmaking, that it didn’t mean anything. Even though you’d lied about that cottage you obviously went to with him. And despite that time you went riding with him alone before I was awake. Not to mention the whispering in the corners or—” He broke off with a curse. “But when I see him kiss your hand and hear that he’d been to visit you privately this morning…when I see you smile at him or…or praise him or—”

“Oh my God,” she whispered, rousing herself from her stunned silence. “You thought—I can’t believe that you thought…” Her own temper got the better of her. “Why, you…big…idiot!” Striding right up to him, she punched him in the chest.

“Ow! That hurt!”

“Good! You thought there was something between me and Lord Templemore? Templemore, for God’s sake?”

Rubbing the spot where she’d punched him, he eyed her warily. “No! Well…I mean, I know you’d never cuckold me, but—” At the word cuckold, she started to punch him again, and he caught her fist. “I thought you might…you know…have some sort of infatuation for him,” he finished lamely.

She tried to wrench her fist free, but he was having none of that. She glared at him. “Curse you, Griff, he was helping me to conceive!”

He gaped at her, then exploded with, “Like hell he was!” Only then did she realize how that sounded. Thrusting her away, Griff headed for the door. “Never mind the duel. I’ll tear the bastard limb from limb!”

“No, I didn’t mean it like that!” She hurried after him to catch him by the arm. “I mean, he brought me to a healer! In Shropshire!”